One-shots and Other Ramblings
by lisbeth00
Summary: A repository for my odder ideas and little writing prompts for the Harry Potter universe.
1. Biscuits

Deborah Turning was a peculiar girl, even for a witch.

She'd grown up in a halfblood home, used to the eccentric mesh of wizarding and muggle lifestyles. Her family was quaint, nearly idyllic in their suburbanite style of living. White picket fence, a largely American venture, but idyllic all the same; thoroughly enchanted to repel garden gnomes and other unwanted pests. Their sitting room was host to an affordable, yet quite nearly fancy television set placed within a heavily warded circuit, to prevent the electronics untimely demise. They even owned both a crup and a kneazle, the two animals constantly chasing one another around the house, like some sort thoroughly annoying wizarding childrens show.

But Deborah Turning was peculiar.

There was an issue she'd had since birth, one that affected her in ways that many could not predict, nor could they imagine the consequences of. It was rare, so incredibly rare that there had only been a few cases of the same affliction preceding hers, the most famous in which the wizard that was afflicted by this particular disease ended up living a very short and unhealthy life, having been slaughtered by a mob of furious villagers.

Deborah's problem, was that she could not tell the difference between a biscuit, and a baby.

For as long as she could remember, she'd never been able to discern between the two. In fact, she ended up developing a crippling fear of large biscuits, particularly chocolate coated digestives. Deborah and her family had discovered her condition when she had nearly devoured a baby girl of only six months, as she had been so excited at the prospect of a person sized biscuit that she immediately grabbed the gigantic delicacy and began to gnaw on it.

When confronted, she could only say, "But it looked so _delicious._ " Thus terrifying her family so deeply that they considered simply leaving her out to freeze, convinced that their child was a budding sociopath, and would someday move on to larger game. Like dogs, or an escaped zoo animal.

They soon found themselves quite relieved when they realized that she only considered children a year of age and below to be potential meals, yet they still researched her affliction thoroughly. Her mother and father had taken her to a plethora of healers, all of which were left scratching their heads at Deborah's odd conundrum.

One day, an old and wizened man stopped by their door. His beard tickled his knees, well groomed and bound towards the bottom of his chest. He wore garish robes of lavender and turquoise, prancing unicorns dancing across its surface, snorting playfully as they pawed at immaterial ground. The man was Albus Dumbledore. Defeater of Grindelwald, and Devourer of Many a Sweet.

"Quite a serious problem, I do say," he grumbled thoughtfully, running his long and weathered fingers through the sharp white of his beard.

Deborah's mother, a slight woman by the name of Mary, stood there with her eyes wide, fear and worry emanating from her. "But what's wrong with her? Do you know, Dumbledore? Do you know what's wrong with my little girl?" she cried, hands clasped together and her brow crinkled.

Her husband, Gregory, rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, a grim look on his face. "Dear, please. Let the man do his work."

She nodded contritely, directing her tear filled gaze towards the living legend in front of her. "Please," she choked, her voice thick and strained. "Please save my little girl."

Dumbledore smiled, a genial thing, unaffected by the tension in the air. "Fear not," he said, raising his chin proudly. "I have run into this issue once before, why I myself have dealt with the same thing personally."

Mary's eyes widened in shock. "You? _You_ have the same disease?"

Dumbledore nodded, clapping his hands together. "Why, I remember it like it was yesterday," he mentioned with a far away look, all of a sudden flooded by a wave of fond nostalgia. "I was venturing through Godric's Hollow, the town in which I grew up. I and my brother had just played the most delightful game of marbles, and I was to head home and help my mother prepare dinner. On my way, I happened to spot what looked to be the largest lemon drop I'd ever come across in my entire life, simply resting in a stroller." He shook his head good naturedly, a wry chuckle escaping his lips. "Why, I went up to it and began to lick it. I was quite confused when I didn't taste lemon, but an odd, salty flavour. I was even more confused when the lemon drop began to giggle!"

The Turnings looked between themselves, looks of shock and no small amount of horror passing between their shared gaze.

Dumbledore continued speaking as if they'd never shared a look of abject terror, either choosing to ignore them, or completely unaware of the impending panic attack that he'd induced in the two worried parents, who were now convinced that the man in front of them had not been playing with marbles, but had lost his own entirely.

"So, after turning heel and fleeing from what seemed to be a sentient lemon drop, I arrived home. I regaled my parents and siblings with my tale, describing the peculiar sweet and how it seemed to take great pleasure in being tasted. My parents were understandably worried, and from thereon-out decided to always provide me with a bag of lemon drops, so that I may never make the mistake of confusing an infant with the sweet I so love."

"Yes, but how does this help our daughter?" Gregory interrupted, terribly confused.

The ancient wizard smiled his dazzling smile, one that promised all was well.

The Turning's were unaffected by his display of friendliness, instead shirking away from him in the fear that he may too confuse them for a tasty treat.

"Why, it's simple!" he effused, moustache twitching happily.

"What's so simple?" the two parents replied, a faint glimmer of hope shimmering within them.

Dumbledore's smile grew even wider, if such a thing was even possible. He leaned back on his heels childishly, bouncing back and forth on his feet like he'd been holding it in for a good while and just now realized that he had to use the loo.

"We provide her with a lifetime supply of biscuits!"


	2. Gerblins

"Oh golly gee mister! I can't believe you gave me this ancient, incredibly powerful staff that was once wielded by Merlin himself!" Harry cheered, staring in awe at the gnarled, yet imposing branch of alder and birch, a spinning cerulean gemstone floating absently above twisted roots at the peak of the weapon.

"Ain't shit Harry, don't you worry yourself," Skullfuck replied, calmly puffing away on a finely rolled bit of Longbottom leaf. "It's the least I can do. I mean, you _did_ say 'please' and 'thank you' earlier. That's never happened in the history of Goblin-kind."

"Shame that," Harry replied.


	3. Oh Dear, Mister Dumbledore

"Harry my boy, sexuality is a frightful, fanciful thing."

"Dumbledore, I really don't think we need to have this convers-"

"Nonsense!" Albus cried, one mighty finger pointed to the air, as if he was saluting a prophet from on high. "You're, what, fifteen?"

"Sixteen."

"Yes, yes. A silly age, I always thought." Dumbledore ran his hand through his beard. "Harry, have you ever given any thought to what you prefer?"

Harry blanched. "What?"

"Why, the furrier or the fairer, as I've always said." He leaned forward, tapping his nose. "I always liked the muscled ones myself. Little bit more to grab on to."

"Oh good lord."

"So, Harry. My lad, my friend, good old pal. There are many different types of people out there - all shapes, colours and sizes. Why, it's absolutely delightful the sheer options one has if they tend to swing in both directions." He leaned forward again. "Always swung a little to the left, myself," Dumbledore stated with a wink, punching Harry in the arm for good measure.

"Oh, there's big ones and small ones and saggy ones too, a tit is a tit and by god it'll do- "

"Dumbledore, why are you singing."

"A cock can be soft or hard as you like, swinging about like the sword of a knight. Clams and boxes, slashes are great, pop a knuckle in there and you'll never know hate."

 _"Dumbledore, please stop."_

"It's alright if you like everything on the plate. You'll be tugging and licking and all sorts of things, by god you may even get on with a king!"

 _"DUMBLEDORE, FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, PLEASE STOP."_

Albus froze, his hand held out in front of his mouth in an open fist, as if he was grasping a length of pipe. "Is there a problem, Harry?"

Harry, to his credit, was only crying a little.

"I'm straight, Dumbledore. I'm straight, okay?"

"Ah!" Albus smiled widely. "Well, I'm happy you don't have to go through the trials and tribulations I did. My thirst for cock started a war!"

Harry fainted.


	4. Long Lost Love

Dumbledore closed her eyes, let out a long, soft sigh.

"She was... everything to me."

"Professor?"

"Griselda."

Harry shook his head, confused.

"Griselda _Grindelwald?"_

"Yes." Alara smiled, a quiet thing.

"My friends, my family - they condemned me for it. My love. An unnatural, terrible thing they said."

"Professor Dumbledore..." Harry paused. "I don't... I never knew- "

"Not many did." She chuckled, short white hair bobbing as her head tilted ever so slightly, eyes cast off into the distance. "I thought the students had their rumours, do they not? They wonder why I've never taken a husband in my lifetime. Frigid, they call me."

"I've never once- "

She put her hand up. "It's perfectly alright Harry. I know you don't feel that way."

He pursed his lips. "Wasn't she responsible for the War? _The_ War?"

Alara closed her eyes. "Yes, she did. I nearly followed her into it, lovestruck as I was." She smiled at Harry, amusement dancing across her features. "It reminds me of the way you chase after Miss Lovegood."

Blushing madly, Harry waved her off. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Nonsense. Love is a beautiful, wonderful thing. Stop worrying so much. _Talk to her."_

"I... but- " he choked up. "What if she doesn't want anything to do with me?"

"Harry." Alara's voice had taken on a somber tone, low and steady. "Never run away from love. I once did, and look what it cost the world."

"Tell me about her."

Dumbledore froze up, eyeing Harry curiously.

None - that knew, of course - had ever asked her about Griselda. Instead they passed her by with pitying looks and words of resentment. An anger buried deep inside.

It was justified, of course. She could never argue against that.

Yet, it still hurt, nonetheless.

"She was beautiful. The most wonderful woman I had ever met. She had an... air about her. A command of herself and those who found themselves in her magnifying presence." Alara blinked, nostalgia washing over her. "I loved her."


End file.
